


paper thin

by Nux



Series: 14 is our unlucky number [2]
Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Consensual but not sane, First Time, M/M, Minor Violence, Sort Of, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 14:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nux/pseuds/Nux
Summary: 1991;  Second times...the charm?Izzy is leaving and this time for good. Axl can't hold him back or make him change his mind no matter what; he's done.
Relationships: Axl Rose/Izzy Stradlin
Series: 14 is our unlucky number [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216715
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	paper thin

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure to read tags and if it's not your cup of tea, then click back, please take care of yourself ♥!
> 
> And, a big thank you and shoutout to [Cera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiiKitsune) for being my beta and doing a wonderful job as always!
> 
> (The minor violence tag is in reference to Axl taking a swing at Izzy and Izzy later on shoving Axl into a wall but it's nothing too graphic or too violent.)

“You can’t fucking leave!” 

“Yeah? Then the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” Izzy shoots back, frustration and pent-up irritation lacing his words. It’s almost funny how they’re back in the same situation they had been in months ago, only this time Axl isn’t sitting on the floor, begging. This time he’s pacing the room frantically as if the mere thought of Izzy leaving is outrageous and uncalled for. As if he can’t stand the thought of it. It’s bizarre—a fucking  _ joke _ —because Izzy knows just how much Axl has been running the show lately anyway and that he doesn’t  _ care _ if he leaves or not; Axl would manage without him. (And it fucking  _ hurts _ , knowing he apparently doesn’t mean shit to Axl after all.)

“You fucking promised, man,” comes Axl’s weak reply and izzy stops his own pacing in favour of staring Axl down. He meets those blue eyes and is surprised to find that they match whatever tiredness Izzy feels crawling in his own bones. 

“Well, shit’s not working out,” he grits out and it was the truth. He had tried to make things work between them—between the band—but it just wasn’t working. And maybe it never really  _ had  _ worked to begin with. 

“‘ts not working because  _ you’re  _ not trying, Iz.”

And maybe Axl is right; maybe he hadn’t tried as hard as he had thought. Izzy tells himself that it was useless though, that Axl is the roaring thunder and pouring rain and that it wasn’t ever an option to go against him. You wouldn’t try to brave a hurricane with nothing to shield you, after all. 

Izzy frowns, his eyebrows drawn together tightly because there was a time when he  _ had  _ tried; moments when he had tried harder than  _ anyone _ in the band. He knows Axl won’t listen to that though, too full of himself and whatever shit his girlfriends told him to actually sit down and listen. So, Izzy huffs loudly and reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose before he more or less throws himself on the two-seat couch in his hotel room. It was a different room; a different hotel. They were still on the 14th floor (and wasn’t that a fun, bizarre coincidence?) But the room was nicer this time. There are no dark, ominous spots growing on the ceiling and the sheets are cleaner. Softer, too (though Izzy hasn't spent much time sleeping in the bed anyways). It was nicer but none of it made him actually feel any better. 

The fighting has been going on for months; on and off arguments that lead nowhere and every time they’ve had a go at each other Izzy feels like this time,  _ this  _ moment is the one. The one where everything just implodes and shatters.

And then Axl does something and it’s okay. For a little while. 

Tiredly, Izzy reaches for the pack of smokes lying discarded on the couch and he fiddles with it for a few seconds before he pulls one out and lights it up with well-practiced ease. He draws in a heavy breath only to exhale a moment later. Just like last time there’s a window open and whatever smoke Izzy exhales vanishes just as quickly as it escapes him. The room stays pristine and well-lit though and he can see Axl clearly; can see the cracks and splinters in the things they’ve tried to keep together when they should’ve just stopped a long time ago.

They need time apart, or so he tells himself. They need to walk away and maybe, just maybe, they can come back to each other again some time. 

Maybe. 

(Probably never.)

“I really meant what I said back then,” Axl says, voice cutting through Izzy’s thoughts like a sharp knife. He watches him sit down too, all gingerly and slowly but on the foot of the bed, looking like he would rather bolt out the door. “About needing you.”

Izzy thinks about those words. He looks away for a few seconds and stares at the wall opposite of him, it’s plain and white and boring, void of any decoration. He thinks about what Axl’s said and just like last time, there’s a headache coming on; it grows slowly somewhere in the back of his head until it wraps around him and clamps down tightly. And despite that, part of Izzy wants to say it back, wants to say  _ I need you too _ . He realises he’s way past that though, that it would just be hollow words to placate Axl despite everything crumbling around them. He exhales smoke again and follows it with a heavy sigh. There had been a time when he needed Axl, he thinks. 

(But roaring thunder and heavy rain and whirlwinds don’t fit in with a calm life.)

“I know,” Izzy says instead. 

“So? what’s the damn problem then?” Axl says and his voice sounds disjointed, almost as if it’s coming to him through a door far away. Izzy knows exactly what his problem is but he also knows Axl won’t listen to him; he hasn’t done for ages, the hotel-incident months ago being the only moment Izzy can recall Axl  _ actually  _ listening to him.

“Dunno,” he settles on saying and a cloud of smoke escapes him along with the word. It’s like deja vu when he hears Axl huff and grumble something under his breath;  _ knows  _ they’ve been in this situation before. He just doesn’t know how many times. Fifty? A hundred? It feels like a million. 

“Then fucking  _ talk  _ to me.”

There’s an edge of desperation to Axl’s words and that, at last, has Izzy look away from the plain and boring wall he’s been staring at for the past five minutes. When he looks across the room and fixes his gaze on Axl, he can’t help but think that the other man is beautiful, has always been, and the thought is both tragic and funny. It's  _ tragic _ how often he’s been thinking about it lately, how the events of that night when Axl had sat between his legs and begged sweetly had never really left him. 

He draws in another slow breath. Axl’s beauty doesn’t weigh up for the crumbling pieces and fuck ups around them though. He looks down to the floor again and thinks that whatever they had had  _ then _ in that moment on the 14th floor of some crappy hotel is gone now. Gone forever. 

“Izzy for fucks sake—“ 

Izzy is quick to cut Axl off by standing up from the couch and he makes a hasty move of pushing his half-finished cigarette down into the nearby ashtray before making his way over to the bed. He stops just short of the bed and stares Axl down; tries his best to pin him with his gaze. He knows it’s working because blue eyes stare up at him and Axl’s jaw goes a little slack before he shuts his mouth. (Izzy pretends he doesn’t feel a bit triumphant at that.)

“We’ve been over it, Ax,” Izzy says. He cards a hand through his own hair and just then realises it’s unwashed and greasy. Probably should’ve washed it days ago. “We’ve been over it so many damn times.”

“But you said you wouldn’t leave me.”

“This isn’t about  _ you _ —“ Except it is. It  _ is _ about Axl in every possible way. It's about the rain and thunder that he brings and it’s about the momentarily sunshine he allows to break through heavy storm clouds every now and then; it’s about the warmth and the  _ good _ moments. It’s about the bad ones and the days when Izzy feels everything is hopeless and for naught. He cards his fingers through his hair again and when he catches on a few strands he doesn’t even grimace despite prickling pain. “Not fucking everythin’ is about you, you ass, it’s about all of it. All this  _ shit _ that we do.” 

_ All the shit we don’t do. _

And that’s when the calm blue in Axl’s eyes change into something electric and stormy. Izzy knows it before it happens and he only has seconds to steady himself when Axl stands up abruptly and grabs at the lapels of his shirt to tug almost furiously.  _ Urgently _ , part of Izzy wants to hope, though he crushes it down almost immediately. 

“No? Well it fucking  _ feels  _ like it’s about me because you’ve been even pissier since we—since—since that  _ fucking _ night.”

_ That fucking night. _

Izzy scoffs and then he breathes out a raw, pitiful and nowhere near amused laugh. It’s dry and hollow, and, he thinks, fitting for them.

“You thought a goddamn  _ blowjob _ would keep me ‘round?” Izzy hears himself say, because it’s the only thing he can think of all of a sudden. That fucking  _ night _ . Axl’s blue eyes glazed over with hunger, need and want; Axl’s flushed skin and parted lips. When he continues, Izzy's tone is tinged with something painful and cold: “Do you offer blowjobs to everyone who’s about to ditch your sorry ass? ‘s that how you make shit work in your favour?”

“You—“ Axl takes a swing and Izzy sees it, he’s just too slow to duck. Or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore. The fist lands square on his jaw and it  _ hurts _ , it makes the pain flare up and he winces; can’t help but take a slow staggering step back. Part of him thinks that maybe he deserved that one. (Just this once.)

Normally, Izzy would’ve taken his shit and just left; would’ve walked away from whatever mess they were constantly throwing themselves into. But this time it hurt. This time it hit too close to home and tore up wounds Izzy didn’t even know he had. He breaths in through his nose, and even that hurts. He ignores the throbbing pain and instead takes a step back and away from Axl; the distance between them feels miles wide and yet not enough at the same time. Clenching his jaw tightly, he stands still, holds his ground and stares at Axl for a few, hard seconds. His gaze is fixed on those red tresses intertwined with gold.  _ That night _ he had had his fingers buried deep in Axl’s hair. Sighing again, Izzy finds himself itching for another smoke; anything to keep his mind off of how perfectly well Axl had slotted against him and how warm he had felt against clothed skin. Warm, just like the sun that used to light up Izzy's world in a distant reality. 

Another slow breath escapes Izzy. He realises as they stand there that nothing’s going to change; nothing is ever going to go back to normal or like how things used to be. He realises he has to bury whatever he’s felt for Axl and move on. (And despite that realisation, a part of Izzy wants to ask if Axl still would do  _ anything _ for him to stay, but the question only lingers on the tip of his tongue and never dares to escape him.)

Eventually, after what feels like a lifetime, Izzy fixes his gaze on the boring white wall again and just stares. This is  _ the  _ moment and he knows it; they’re imploding. 

“You’re the worst, Jeff,” Axl voices and Izzy has to stop himself from laughing because it sounds so  _ pathetic _ ; sounds like something a third grader would say just to win an argument. 

“I’m not the one fucking things up all the time,” Izzy reminds Axl. he doesn’t care that it comes out mean and vicious because he’s  _ been  _ trying for so long to hold things together and this time he really is done; this time it’s over and he’s done trying to sweep things under the rug and pretend that they’re fine when they’re not. 

“I’ve been  _ trying  _ to fix things, you know that,” Axl says and Izzy can’t help but notice the little bit of desperation that seeps into his tone. He can’t find it in himself to care though.

“Yeah? and I’m sick of trying and nothing ever changing.”

“So this means nothing?”

Izzy draws his eyebrows together; clenches his jaw tightly. Whatever it is Axl’s trying to fish for, he’s  _ not  _ willing to give, not this time. Instead Izzy merely bites out a cold, harsh: “No.”

(Except it does. It means so much it fucking  _ hurts _ .)

He sees something angry flash in axl’s eyes again. He sees the way the redhead snarls almost like a rabid dog. There’s a raised fist again but this time, Izzy ducks. He furrows his brows tightly; levels Axl with a cold hard stare and shifts out of the way. In the blink of an eye he’s got his fingers woven tightly in Axl’s shirt, holding onto the fabric like a vice. Forcing him back and then some, Izzy presses the redhead harshly against the plain, white hotel wall and stares him down hard. 

“Last time you begged me, not gonna do that this time, Ax?” Izzy bites out and he looks deep into Axl’s wide, blue eyes. He's glad for the few inches he’s got on Axl; that little leverage keeps  _ him _ in control. A few moments pass between them and nothing comes. there’s nothing but the silence of a perfectly soundproofed hotel and Izzy nods curtly, he figures Axl’s made his choice. 

(They’re imploding, he reminds himself.)

Izzy is just about to pull away and leave the room—even when it’s his _own_ goddamn room—when Axl grits out a low _please_. It’s not what he had expected at all and for a second it stuns him into silence and motionlessness. Then, because the wound they’ve torn up between them is still raw and gaping Izzy asks: “Please? ‘m not here to play fuckin’ games, Ax, please _what?_ ” He tugs just a little harsher on Axl’s button-down shirt and without being able to stop himself, he adds: “You still on about that shit? The ‘I would do anything for you’?”

Silence follows after and it lingers around them for a while. Izzy feels the itch for another cigarette rise again, the way it builds slowly but surely until it’s the only thing he can think of; a weary and heavy need weighing him down. He channels all of that into winding his fingers just a little tighter into the fabric of Axl's shirt as if to use that to ground himself now that he can’t reach for a cigarette. Part of him knows he should back down and walk out of the room; knows he’s playing with fire just as much as he had done back then, several months ago. But Axl looks up at him and there’s something in his eyes that Izzy can’t begin to describe—he doesn’t even try—and then he sees Axl’s lips move slowly, the motion dragging his gaze down, down, down. He remembers those lips being wrapped around his cock, everything so vivid someone might as well have hit reverse on the tape or thrown him back in time, back to the hotel room that had been crumbling around them. 

“I would,” Axl says and Izzy just stares silently for a few seconds before he scoffs. 

“Bullshit,” he bites out just as harshly as before and then offers another harsh push against Axl. Because Izzy’s sure of his doubt, just like back then _ , _ sure that Axl doesn’t  _ really  _ means any of this shit after all.

It’s all bullshit, he thinks. Bullshit and lies to get him to stick around; like a shitty band aid that’s lost its stickiness. 

“I would!” Axl counters, louder this time, and Izzy finds himself shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Prove it,” Izzy says because he doesn’t trust Axl; not after all the time he’s had to _actually_ fix things. “Can’t promise it’ll make me stick around but fuckin’ prove it, _Billy._ ”

And just like last time they had had this stare down Axl says: “Tell me to do something and I will.”

Izzy scoffs. He unconsciously tightens his grip on Axl’s shirt again and glares down at him just a little harder. He doesn’t really want to play games with the redhead but for a second he humours him: “So you’d beg me?” 

“If you want me to.”

“You’d suck me off again?” Izzy presses, because he’s still thinking about that night. Axl doesn’t say anything but there’s no missing the way colour washes over pale features and the way his gaze darts away to look at something across the room. Izzy thinks about that night. About the breeze that had drifted through the room, thinks about the grey carpet that had muffled his nervousness. He thinks about all the things he hadn’t dared to ask for. 

Axl's silence sparks something mean in Izzy, something that he didn’t even know of himself, and he shoves the redhead against the wall again just shy of ruining the pristine plaster. 

“Yes— _ fucking hell, Iz _ —yes, I’d fucking suck you off again!” Axl’s urgent voice says, and for a few seconds it satisfies Izzy. 

“You’d let me fuck you too?” he asks; one of those lingering thoughts from months before  _ finally  _ daring to escape him. In his hands, Axl freezes up almost immediately and when he looks down into bewildered blue eyes Izzy almost backs down and takes the question back; almost expects Axl to take another swing at him.

“I—“ Axl starts, only to quiet down a second later and his gaze darts again, back and forth before fixing itself somewhere across Izzy's shoulder. He's still beet red in the face and for a few seconds Izzy finds himself growing hesitant. He eases up on the grip he has on Axl’s shirt and he’s seconds away from backing off and retreating for real when Axl continues, voice low and almost hushed: “I would.”

Izzy blinks. He stares at Axl with his eyes wide and with the reply echoing back and forth in his head. 

_ I would. _

For a moment, Izzy’s imagination runs wild. It supplies him with a few assorted images of just that; of Axl being pressed down into the luxurious, soft, undisturbed bedsheets. It shows him all that pleasure and hunger that he had seen in Axl’s eyes months ago when the redhead had been down on his knees sucking his cock and it’s almost enough to satisfy Izzy’s growing itch on its own. 

“You would,” he repeats, just a hint of disbelief in his tone. Before him, Axl furrows his brows too and Izzy can’t help but think that he looks like he’s  _ waiting.  _ So, Izzy swallows thickly and nods towards the bed; needs to see just  _ how  _ honest Axl is with his reply. He unwinds his fingers from Axl’s shirt slowly and takes a short step back.

“Strip and get on the bed.” Izzy ignores the shakiness in his voice; ignores the way his mouth has suddenly gone bone-dry and the fact that there’s the slightest tremble in his limbs. He jerks his head towards the bed again, just to try and reel himself in and tell  _ himself  _ to be sure. To be assertive. 

Before him, Axl looks just a little bit hesitant and it really is fucking with Izzy how momentarily small the redhead looks; how blue his eyes are, all wide and seemingly innocent despite being far from it. 

Izzy wets his lips. The bone-dry feeling doesn’t disappear and he’s got a feeling he could down gallons of water and  _ still  _ be thirsty. He draws in a slow breath and tries to will the nervousness away and gone. He focuses on the slight, cooling breeze and how it soothes his burning skin; focuses on Axl when he slowly starts to move. The jeans Axl wears get pushed down and Izzy can’t help but suck in a deep breath at the sight; at the  _ show. _

“Can I keep the shirt on?” Axl asks and Izzy finds himself blinking in confusion. He looks up from pale legs and finds that Axl is staring straight into his eyes, waiting. Just like months before—just like moments ago—there’s something electric in there, something static that makes the hair on Izzy’s arms stand. Instead of answering he simply nods. 

He watches as Axl saunters over to the bed; watches as Axl makes himself comfortable with the expensive pillows and blanket almost as if making a little nest. There's something about the sight—and the innocence that suddenly shrouds Axl—that clashes with the imaginary scenarios Izzy's brain has offered him over the past few months. Suddenly, there’s none of that feisty and teasing Axl and instead it’s just...Axl. Izzy doesn’t know what to make of it, of that thought and the way it settles heavily in the pit of his stomach like some misplaced guilt. He focuses instead on the little things; focuses on how perfect Axl looks on _his_ bed and how he can _almost_ pretend it’s his shirt Axl's wearing. Actually, there’s something oddly familiar about it and he _has_ been missing a shirt for a few weeks now. (It couldn’t be his shirt though, could it? Izzy doubts it is.)

“Have you done this before?”

“What?” Izzy asks, still busy trying to steer his brain away from memories and fake-pretend and back to the important things; Axl’s pale, strong legs, parted just a little for  _ him _ . Whenever he allows his gaze to dart up he can just  _ barely _ make out the swell of Axl’s ass and the sight is distracting him enough from his thoughts. Enough so that he nearly misses it when Axl repeats himself again. 

“I said, have you fucked guys before,  _ Jeff _ ?”

Izzy glances away from the sight of Axl lounging on the bed, realising he’ll never be able to reply if he keeps staring. “No,” he says truthfully. “I’ve done anal with chicks though, can’t be that different?”

He hears rather than sees Axl laugh softly. 

“Yeah, sure, sure. You got lube, then?”

Izzy looks around the room. It’s still a hotel room—of course it is—and he didn’t exactly  _ plan _ for this to happen. Axl had just barged in all furious and angry an hour earlier and demanded him stay and that he was forbidden to quit. So, in conclusion, Izzy didn’t have shit. He shakes his head slowly, kind of defeated because this might as well have been his  _ only  _ chance of ever being with Axl; the one and only chance and it’s going to slip right through his fingers and out through the open window to get lost somewhere in the big city. 

“...you got a condom at least?” 

At that, Izzy nods quickly. “Yeah. got a whole pack of ‘em.” Axl snorts again and it’s so drastically different to the anger and fire he had brought before. 

“So, I don’t know, you got any lotion or somethin’?”

It sparks Izzy into motion and he shifts out of the position he had been standing in for the past ten minutes to walk across the room towards the adjoined bathroom.  _ Lotion, lotion, lotion. _ There's soap and shampoo in the bathroom, ironically enough it’s all rose-scented. He looks through the drawers and when he finds a small tube he sticks his head out to look at Axl, holding it up for him to see.

“Does this work? It’s aloe vera.”

“Yeah, guess that’ll work,” Axl says and with that, Izzy walks back into the room and back to the bed. He lingers by the edge of it and just stares down for a few, hard seconds. 

“Quit staring and fucking do something, Isbell. You’re the one who wanted it.”

Instead of doing something, Izzy continues to stare.  _ I’m the one who wants it _ , a small voice at the back of his head repeats. For a second he’s thrown back in time and he’s sitting on the couch of a crappy hotel room with Axl at his feet; ready to please. 

_ You’re the one who wanted it.  _

Izzy takes half a step closer towards the bed until his knees hit the soft mattress and he rests his weight against it. Axl is still looking at him over his shoulder; blue eyes boring into his. There's still a flush spread across pale features Izzy notes and despite that he can’t help but say: “You don’t have to do this.”

Before him, Axl frowns. He twists around just a little more and pushes himself up until he can look fully at Izzy and Izzy, well, he feels like he’s said something he shouldn’t have; like the magic around them has broken. 

“You’re so fucking stupid, Iz,” Axl sneers. “You really think I’d let you fuck my throat and throw me ‘round if i didn’t fucking want it? You really think I’d say yes to getting fucked in the ass if I didn’t actually want that shit?” Axl shifts again and Izzy stares down; he takes in the anger that flashes brightly in those blue eyes and the way the red intensifies on pale cheeks until it nearly matches Axl’s hair. “You got some fuckin’ nerve.”

“Wait—“ Izzy says, only to fall silent a second later. The puzzle pieces slowly start to come together, slowly, slowly falling into their designated places. 

“I don’t fucking care if you want to leave,” Axl says from somewhere amongst the expensive pillows and soft linens. “I don’t— _ fuck _ —just let me have this before you decide to fuck off to godknows where.” There’s something melancholy in his voice and Izzy wants to sit down and ask about it; wants to pick away at Axl’s brain until that sentence makes sense because right now, Izzy doesn’t understand a fucking thing. 

“Thought I made it clear last time, y’know? But you probably still don’t fucking get it,” Axl continues and Izzy thinks that maybe it’s not just the band and them that’s imploding; maybe it’s the whole world too.

“You want this?” Izzy hears himself ask, his voice low and scratchy. He thinks back to ominous dark spots and starlit skies and suffocating, smoke-filled hotel rooms. Axl had stared up at him with mischief in his eyes then, how he had looked at him with all that fondness and warmth that Izzy had remembered from Lafayette. He thinks back to how  _ right  _ it had felt to have Axl pressed against his thigh. He thinks about the smoke that had lingered in the air and the breeze that had swept it away moments later. 

Axl doesn’t reply and Izzy doesn’t push because he knows what the silence means; knows what Axl’s unspoken words mean. 

“I’m so stupid,” Izzy says, repeating what Axl had said before. 

“You are,” Axl says eventually. There’s a tinge of tiredness to the words and something else Izzy can’t really explain. “And so fuckin’  _ blind _ .”

Izzy leans just a little more against the bed until he’s just shy of kneeling on the edge of it. He licks his lips slowly and, before he can stop himself, he reaches out and places one hand on Axl’s naked thigh. The muscle jumps beneath his palm but Axl stays still otherwise. 

“So when you said you’d suck me off back then…”

Axl huffs, at least Izzy thinks he did because the sound is muffled against the pillows. “I said it because I thought it would be my only chance. You kept staring at me and, dunno,” Axl says, his voice turning smaller and smaller until it disappears completely.

_ I’d do anything for you, _ Izzy remembers Axl saying, sitting on the floor between his legs. 

“I didn’t think you wanted to. Just...figured you said it to make me stay,” Izzy says and Axl huffs again. He sees the way the redhead moves against the soft blankets and how he shakes his head.

“Well, that was what we argued about and it got your attention, didn’t it?”

Izzy nods slowly despite Axl not being able to see him. It had gotten his attention; had been the sole focus of his attention for  _ months  _ now and been the only thing he could think of. That and happy, slow warm moments in Lafayette. He has to almost physically remind himself that things aren’t working out though. Whatever they’ve had is crumbling and withering like an abandoned building, ready to be bulldozered down and he knows if he doesn’t leave  _ now _ , he’ll be crushed when it starts to come down. He shifts just a little on the bed, allows himself to lean a little heavier against Axl. 

“So don't make me ask twice,” Axl says, voice rough with something Izzy can’t make out. Something angry and painful. “Either do something or get lost and leave like you’ve been fuckin’ wanting to.”

Izzy draws in a deep breath; it rattles in his lungs and makes his chest constrict with something heavy and unpleasant. 

Part of him still doesn’t want to leave. 

He sucks in a deep breath and shifts on the bed until he’s resting fully on it; until he’s sitting between Axl’s naked, spread legs. He’s still got one hand resting on Axl’s skin and now that the silence has settled around them again Izzy looks down to his hand. He splays his fingers a little, rubs a few, small soothing circles into soft skin and then, despite himself, he pulls his hand away. 

“So…have you done this before?” he asks and the words bring with them a flashback from months ago, back to when he had asked if Axl had sucked dick before. 

“...no,” Axl says and it sounds honest this time.

Izzy nods. “I’ll be careful,” he reassures, hoping it comes out with as much comfort as he wants it to. Axl doesn’t say anything in return so Izzy keeps quiet too. He just leans forward a little and reaches out with both hands to let them rest on Axl’s thighs. The muscle jumps and there’s the slightest twitch of movement before he stills again. Part of this is a wet dream come true and Izzy can’t help but hold his breath as he fixes his gaze on his own hands as he slowly, slowly slides them up higher and higher. He can’t believe he’s  _ really  _ doing this. He drags his fingertips over soft skin and revels in the low exhale he gets from Axl in return, soft and breathy. It sets fire to his skin and Izzy thinks, as Axl spreads his legs just a little further, that maybe it isn’t just a wet dream come true; maybe it  _ is  _ a dream. 

(Just as bizarre as the one from months ago.)

Izzy slides his hands higher. He reaches the slight swell of Axl’s ass and with a tentative touch he lets his fingertips sneak in underneath the hem of Axl’s shirt, the fabric soft to the touch, just like Axl. 

(Maybe it  _ is  _ his shirt after all.)

“Can you say that again?” he asks quietly, part of him needing to hear it again. (And maybe again and again and again.) “Say that you want it.”

Axl huffs below him; the sound escaping him as if he’s embarrassed but he does as he’s told, whispers it softly into the pillows: “I want it, Iz.”

It’s like music to Izzy’s ears and it sends a euphoric tingle running down his spine; mind momentarily reeling. He nods slowly, lets the words allow his heart to soar for a bit and then, when Axl huffs impatiently under him again, he starts sliding his hand higher to push the shirt out of the way. Under his palms Axl is warm. Had it been under different circumstances, Izzy would’ve taken his time getting the other worked up, now though he reaches for the aloe vera and he nudges at Axl’s thighs to silently urge him to spread them some more. 

“'s gonna be cold,” Izzy warns and he only hesitates for a second before spreading Axl’s cheeks with one hand and pouring some of the cool gel onto warm skin. It tugs a soft, surprised sound from Axl and Izzy wishes he could soak it up and commit it to his memory; wishes he could have it play on repeat always. (And forever and ever and isn’t that sappy?)

_ Do you think I’d agree to this if I didn’t want it? _

Moving his left hand and discarding the aloe vera again, Izzy starts rubbing the gel into Axl’s heated skin; spreads it meticulously and slowly, so very much more careful than he’s ever been with anyone else. Because it’s  _ Axl _ , his brain reminds him. 

The breeze passes by them again but it’s nowhere near as cool as it has been before, no, it’s arid and dry now; somehow hot and sticky at the same time. Izzy feels the need to reach for the pack of smokes again. (Or maybe something heavier despite having been clean for a while.)

“C’mon, Iz,” Axl bites out below, irritation tinging his voice. “Don’t have all fuckin’ day.”

Izzy thinks that they do; or at least that he wishes they  _ did. _

He rubs the gel into Axl’s skin and then wordlessly thumbs at his rim, just shy of testing the give. Axl’s so fucking tense under him; tenses up even more with very slow motion and shift of his thumb. “You gotta relax y’know,” Izzy reminds him and at first Axl doesn’t say anything, just groans and shakes his head. Izzy rolls his eyes and continues: “Can’t fuckin’ do anything if you don’t relax, stupid.”

It seems to work, because when Izzy moves closer into the space between Axl’s spread legs and presses his thumb against the rim just a little harder, Axl shivers and suddenly the muscle gives way; the tenseness bleeding away. Izzy feels his chest constrict with something unexplainable as he sees his thumb disappear into Axl and he holds his breath as he slowly but surely starts to spread the gel, trying to work Axl open. 

Neither of them make a sound and Izzy thinks it’s okay. They don’t have to say anything; the silence around them and the bed creaking every now and then is enough. 

Before he knows it, he’s got two fingers in Axl and the redhead groans sweetly under him; a sound that sends pleasant chills down Izzy’s spine and echoes back and forth in his poor mushy brain. He licks his lips slowly, gaze focused on his own hand and his own fingers as they thrust in and out of Axl at a slow and languid pace.

Again, he wishes he had a camera so he could take a photograph. 

“C’mon, Izzy…” Axl voices into the pillows and blankets. He sounds breathy, like he’s been running a mile or more. 

Izzy swallows thickly and then, as he thrusts his fingers inside just a little harder and earns a soft gasp in return, he asks: “You sure?”

“‘m fucking  _ sure _ .”

The intensity in Axl’s tone—and the silent demand in those words—has Izzy pull away almost immediately. He wipes his hand down on the bedspread, no longer caring about keeping it pristine, and starts tugging at his jeans to get them open as quickly as he can. It’s the most unsexy thing he’s ever witnessed but Axl isn’t really looking at him so Izzy tells himself it’s okay. He feels hot and sticky all over and once he’s  _ finally  _ gotten his jeans open it feels like he’s been through a wrestling match. He reaches for a condom and then the make-shift lube too. The sound of the tin foil packet tearing is so, so loud in the silence that’s settled around them. 

Izzy licks his lips again. His heartbeat is quickening just a little as he starts to roll the condom down his length; every slow inch making him awfully aware of how  _ close  _ they are to the end of everything. He realises, as he reaches out again and brushes past Axl’s hip, just shy of grasping it, that there’s no going back from this. 

They do this and it’s over. 

“You ready?” Izzy asks, the sound of his heart thumping against his rib cage near deafening in his ears; strumming up a steady rhythm full of anticipation and nervousness. He wraps his hand around Axl’s hip and holds him gently, silently urging for an answer. 

“How many damn times are you going to make me say it—“ Axl starts below him, just a hint of irritation—embarrassment—seeping into his words. “I'm  _ ready _ , Jeffrey. ‘n you don’t have to hold back.”

_ Don’t hold back _ . 

Izzy sucks in a deep and heavy breath at that. For a few seconds everything seems to spin around them and he subconsciously digs his fingertips into Axl’s skin and holds him just a little tighter; a little harder, and part of him hopes Axl will wake up with crescent shaped bruises littering his pale skin in the morning. 

“You’re killin’ me, Ax,” he murmurs; tries to play it off as something amusing and as if his statement isn’t true to some extent. He—reluctantly—retracts his hand from Axl to reach for the makeshift lube again and pours some of the gel into his palm to warm it up before he wraps his hand around himself; the gel, when he spreads it, is still cold but the rest of him is warm, hot and sticky and he lets out a soft breath at the clash in sensations. 

This time, when he leans forward, Izzy doesn’t ask if Axl’s ready. He bites harshly into his own bottom lip instead, hard enough to puncture the skin and then some, as he sinks into Axl slowly; the heat engulfing him as if the room has been set on fire. There’s flames licking up the bed frame, he’s sure of it, but he’s not stopping now. 

_ Can’t _ stop. 

(He does stop, but only when he’s buried to the hilt and they’re both gasping for air like it’s been sucked out of the room and they’re left in a vacuum.)

Izzy feels it, rather than sees it, the way Axl's hand wraps around his wrist where he’s still grasping the other’s hip tightly and it’s tugging ever so slowly, silently begging him to do something. Or so Izzy assumes; Axl's got a knack for not talking when he’s supposed to and talking when he’s supposed to  _ not _ . So, he takes it as a green light and leans forward just a little more until he’s caging Axl in against the bed. He shifts, ever so slowly and carefully despite the rising urge to throw caution to the wind and  _ go _ .

He’s rewarded by the softest, faintest breath muffled somewhere against all of those pillows though, and Axl tugging at his wrist just a little harder. 

He makes sure to lock all of that away though and focuses instead on Axl; focuses on the red, soft tresses contrasting so nicely with the white linen and the way Axl feels around him as he starts thrusting. Focuses on the room and the way it spins and spins and never seems to stop. 

The pace Izzy sets is slow and gentle, just like he promised. It’s different to how the blowjob had been and different to all the arguments between them in the past few months. It’s bittersweet, Izzy thinks to himself. He shifts again, this time letting both hands fall to Axl’s hips and he holds him tightly as he thrusts a little harder, a little deeper, hoping to scratch that itch he’s had for so long; hoping he’ll finally be  _ free _ now. Axl moans under him, his voice surprisingly soft, and part of Izzy wants to flip the redhead over just so he can see what kind of expression he’s making. (He doesn’t though, instead just digs his fingertips deeper into Axl’s skin and picks up his pace again, chasing his own pleasure.) 

Another contrast, Izzy notes, is how silent the room is. How quiet  _ they  _ are. it’s just the sound of the linen rustling and their breathing going heavier filling up the room. And it stays like that, even as the heat starts curling low in Izzy's gut and his vision starts going blurry and hazy at the edges, slowly overtaking everything else and shrouding him in pleasant, tingling arousal.

He needs to say something though. Needs to tell Axl that he’s  _ close. _ But just as he’s about to do it Axl lets out a string of high pitched moans—moans that Izzy thinks he’ll  _ never  _ forget and that goes straight to his dick—and tightens almost unbearably around him, almost as if he’s trying to cut off his blood supply. It's what makes Izzy topple over the edge too, and he does so with a heated groan spilling past his lips. For a few moments the world goes dark and in that dark world it’s just him and Axl existing in a vacuum, floating around for all eternity.

And then the image shatters and he’s thrown back into the luxurious yet sterile looking hotel-room on the 14th floor.

He pulls away from Axl, despite wanting to linger and steal some more of his warmth. Sitting up, Izzy first discards the condom (he ties it together and throws—and misses—it towards the trash can under the desk across from the bed) and then he gets up, but only to get the pack of cigarettes and his lighter before sitting down again. 

Izzy faces the plain, white wall again, not daring to look at Axl because he knows his resolve is still paper thin and easily broken. 

“...I'm leaving,” he says in his most composed and well-put voice. He pretends it doesn’t crack in the middle. Pretends he doesn’t feel like saying  _ fuck it, I’m joking _ . He digs through the pack of smokes before pulling one out and bringing it to his lips to light it. He fails once, and then twice, but third time’s the charm and he sucks in a deep breath and lets the smoke fill up his lungs before exhaling all of it. 

He tells himself that this is it; they both got what they wanted but it’s too late to fix anything else and one fuck doesn’t solve their problems. (Maybe, Izzy thinks, that it could’ve solved problems at one point in time but it’s too late now. Everything’s scattered by the wind; the crumbling, withering building is no more. It’s just dust and fleeting moments slipping through his fingers.)

Axl doesn’t say anything back but Izzy knows what the silence means. 

Acceptance. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, you're done, yay! (∩˙▿˙∩) I got a comment on "patience (wearing thin)" about a continuation and I hadn't actually planned one but then my fingers slipped and I accidentally made this, hope you liked it!
> 
> You can find me on twitter: [Nux](https://twitter.com/nuxtheeggplant)  
> And on tumblr: [Nux](https://nuxx.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And, of course, thank you for reading and please leave a comment! ♥ (and pls don't be afraid to come and yell at me on tumblr or twitter!)


End file.
